Your Heart Greater Than Mine
by Auua Ytjoml
Summary: "It's all right. It's- you're gunna be all right." But the narrow frame is utterly, utterly still and the small smile lies frozen, as it had been since it snuck across his elfin features for the last time. AU from 1x4. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N (12 Sept. 2013): My hearty thanks to Lady Suffolk who pointed out to me that it is 'sloe gin' not 'slow gin'. Lady, in response to your review it seemed so obvious to me that I did not think I needed to ask for clarification. I really should have known better as I've been told by my mother countless times to ask before I assume, but there you go. My apologies. **

**A/N: AU from 1x4 : The Poisoned Chalice. Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. All dialogue in italics is from 1x4. Enjoy!**

He stands watch over the still body as dusk leaks into dawn. Every detail arrests his attention. How pale the boy's cheeks, as though the sun had never shone upon his skin. How much darker his unruly mop of hair seems in contrast, fallen limply across closed eyes. How utterly, utterly still his rambunctious frame; rail thin and always moving. The worst however is the small smile that lies frozen, as it had been when it snuck across the elfin features for the last time.

No. Not the last time. Merlin will wake. He will smile again and mock the Prince and call him a Prat and Arthur will push him around and everything will be so painfully_normal_ that they will be able to forget all about the uncovered plot, the poisoned chalice, the way Merlin had quirked his lips- a movement half smile in relief and half fear of the consequences of his misjudgment- when at first nothing had happened.

"_It's fine."_

"_He's all yours." His father's dismissive wave. King Bayard's sword flashing as he draws it from it's sheath._

_Then the single grunt and a gasp for breathe. A hand raised to his throat as he coughs. The collapse of his body oddly graceful in its gentle arc towards the stone floor._

No. They will find a way. They're making progress after all, right? Sure, the antidote had not worked as well as had been expected but Merlin was no longer on his deathbed. . . simply asleep. Gaius called it a 'coma'. Had told him that people might lie like this for years if their caretakers could keep them nourished.

If. Gaius had so far managed to keep up his ward's strength with powerful herbs laced in broth. Still, no one knows how long the broth will continue to do its work.

"_No, no, no, no. No, it's- it's all right."_

A mere servant – as if _Merlin_ could ever be _mere_ anything – refusing to allow harm to come to his Royal Ass of a Prince. His gangly frame coming between the Prince and death for the third time. Third time's the charm. This time taking on directly all of the danger for himself. Refusing Arthur's attempts to take it back.

"_This boy won't be the last to die on your behalf."_

"_I won't accept that!"_

But he must. He must because it has been a year. A year of challenges and tournaments, bandits and -dare he admit it even to himself- love. Yet also a year of too still limbs and closed blue eyes.

_You are my only son and heir. One day I will be dead and Camelot will need a King."_

But how can he accept these sacrifices that leave everyone loyal to him dead and the rest with shifty eyes and halfhearted condolences? How can he accept himself when a mere boy will risk everything to keep him alive?

"_One day Camelot will need a king."_

"_It's all right."_

How had things changed? How had he gone from mocking the young farm boy who had dared tell a Prince what to do to risking his life for the same?

"_It's all right."_

"No it's bloody damn well not alright Merlin! You've have no right to risk your life for me."

"_I expected so much more."_

The witch was right. He should have been more than he was. Merlin should not have paid for his mistakes. No one should pay that price. Not for a prince who had not earned it. Not for Arthur who was nothing more than an unproven brat; good with a sword but nothing else. Not for a prince who let others take the fall for him. Not for a prince who, even when trying to save a life must be rescued by the very man who's life he is trying to save.

Softly, he pulls back the heavy blanket lending warmth to Merlin's clammy frame. Cupped in one hand is a blue orb swirling with cool mist. Its gentle glow mingles with that of the new day lending an ambiance of peace to the quiet turret room off of the physician's quarters.

"_Why do you care so much? The boy's just a servant."_

No. He is so much more than that. Because the Idiot isn't just a farmboy with grandiose notions of chivalry and honor. He is magic, hiding himself away in the heart of Camelot to protect that which would kill him if he was discovered.

"_Those who practice magic know only evil. They despise and seek to destroy goodness wherever they find it._

"You are wrong father. Merlin is goodness. Merlin is magic. You saved my life Merlin, now, please, please let me do the same for you."

"_Please father."_

"_You have to learn there's a right and a wrong way of doing things. You can find yourself another servant."_

On that point Uther had lost. Arthur had refused to choose another servant and any assigned to him found themselves thrown into a battle of wills between their Prince and their King. Few lasted more than a day before begging to be reassigned. Arthur learned to dress himself, even in his armor. He polishes his own armor and sharpens his own sword. Even his fireplace is rarely attended to by any of Camelot's servants. He feels his guilt assuaged by the action of dirtying his hands, of filling the place of his manservant himself.

_"Did it end in a foodfight?"_

_"Don't all feasts?"_

_"I wouldn't know. The airs and graces of the court are a mystery to me."_

Much may be a mystery to him. Much may be a mystery about Merlin. But not the loyalty that the nobles claim to have. His is real. Not the courage that all knights are expected to display. His is so much more. Not the modesty that marks his every word, his every gesture, his every response, regardless of snarky retorts or fearful assurances.

"_If I have to sit through Bayard's boring speeches I don't see why you should get out of it. You'll be there to make sure my cup doesn't run dry."_

He slides his calloused palm over the source of the soothing light. "You never can do as you're told, can you?" Instead, the idiot had drained his cup dry himself.

"_No, no, no, no. It's all right."_

How can he allow others to serve him? When even keeping his room could demand life from those who never asked to give it. When he could not ask that of them who looked up to him with undeserved loyalty and doubly undeserved trust.

"_You disobeyed me."_

"_Of course I did. A man's life was at stake."_

"I will fix this Merlin. I promise you that."

"_Stop! It's poisoned! Don't drink it!"_

"_Merlin, you Idiot! Been at the sloe gin again?"_

The light flickers sending pale copies of shadows dancing across the room. Arthur covers the light with one hand and lays his other palm across his friend's chest.

"Hush Merlin. I trust you."

_How'd you manage it?"_

_I'm not sure. All I do know is that I had help. Someone knew I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way._

"I'm keeping your secret. I won't let my father hurt you."

"_Who?"_

"_I don't know"_

"And when I am king things will change."

"_But whoever it was, I'm only here because of them. "_

"All you need to do is wake up. That's all."

But the narrow frame is utterly, utterly still and the small smile lies frozen, as it had been when it snuck across his elfin features for the last time.

"It's all right. It's- you're gunna be all right."

**A/N: So how was it? Comments? Criticisms? Glowing recommendations? Please review!**

**To clarify. When Gaius tried to use magic in the remedy he failed and so Merlin was not completely cured.**


	2. sequel

__**A/N Some people have been asking for a sequel and I am happy to announce that their wish has been granted. You can find it under 'A Merlin for the Hunt' on my profile page. Below is a teaser. Enjoy!**

_(...)_

_"It should not be this way_- the people mutter among themselves. Their Prince who has inexplicably reverted to his childhood attitudes; contradicting the King, showing open care for the common people as well as his knights, actually dropping his noble countenance to play with a young child who'd offered him flowers and adoring eyes in the street. The man hardened to the world in hopes of his father's approval is gone. But it should not be this way, with joy replaced by a sorrow that hangs over everything he does.

(...)

The nobles, for their part, find their Prince's new interest unusual and improper. After all, falconry _is_ a noble art, but as a prince, Arthur should fly a bird befitting his station. Only a few among these noblemen guess the reason behind Arthur's insistence in flying the small falcon with dark wings and a dark crown; a bird more suited for catching sparrows on the wing than rabbits or pheasant for the pot.

(...)


End file.
